


Do You Trust Me

by digitalduckie, hakbot



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, gendered slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalduckie/pseuds/digitalduckie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakbot/pseuds/hakbot
Summary: Preston saved Dean's life with the promise that his raider days were over, but can he trust him?





	Do You Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> Dean Cooper belongs to hakbot and is written and used with permission.

Preston wasn't sure what it was about the Capital area, but it always felt duller and more green than the Commonwealth ever had. It was no more nor less lush than back home however and the green was of a dingy sort. Given a choice between the two, he'd just as soon ditch both and carry on to more appealing lands. Some place flatter with fewer hills and mountains to hike day after day, he thought to himself after a hard swallow fighting against the loss of his breath.

"You should keep your head down." The other man hadn't said much of anything in quite a while and it actually gave Preston pause, turning to look down at him from higher up the hill.

"What?"

"When you get up the hill. Keep your head down." Dean's expression was blank and his face lacked any flush that would indicate an effort in climbing the hill. He didn't even shift the weight of the sack over his shoulder.

A flame of jealousy flickered inside Preston's chest and he suppressed it by rolling his eyes. He was kind enough to have cut a deal with the raider, saving his life in exchange for acting as a pack mule. And company. They'd fuck. But it didn't mean he had to listen to him. In fact, his status as a raider meant he was almost guaranteed to be uneducated, so what could he know about anything?

He continued on up the hill, dirt crunching and shifting under his boots until he crested. The mound had once known a road that had since crumbled and only reappeared on the other side as a moderate bank around and down into the remains of a town. From where he stood, he couldn't make out a single building that wasn't missing a significant portion of a wall or its rooftop. The town might as well never have known the meaning of the word 'window'. It was, however, familiar with some makeshift awnings and fences constructed of scrap wood, metal, and even old rubber tires. It was populated and doubtfully friendly.

"Tch." He bit his lower lip with his hands on his hip. Fine, maybe Dean was dumb as a rock but it didn't mean he didn't know the area at least. Not that Preston was ready to admit that much out loud and as such he gave his assistant a scowl when he joined him, hunkered down by his side.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So you know about this shit, right?"

Dean reached up, seizing Preston by the waistband of his jacket and tugged down until he complied with keeping a low profile.

"I know about it, yeah." A hand waved, urging for more information before Dean set down the sack and sat fully on the ground. "They're raiders."

"No shit! Raiders? Really?"

"My raiders."

"Like, the raider group you're from?" Fidgeting and hot, Preston unzipped his jacket and shook it about himself.

"Yeah."

"The fuck, Dean?! I thought you said the super mutants ate 'em all?"

"All of them they caught, yeah. Except me and Crabbe." And they both knew what had happened to the raider that had been held captive alongside Dean. "But some of 'em weren't with us. They stayed behind." He gestured toward the town before silently asking for Preston's canteen.

"Okay, so how many of them are there?" As if paying for the information more so than holding any compassion for keeping a fellow human hydrated, Preston handed over the water and waited for the answer.

"A lot." It came with a shrug.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"It was fucking sarcastic, dumb ass."

"I know."

Preston snatched his sack from in front of Dean, rough with the drawstring and taking his frustrations out on the contents until he came upon a pair of binoculars. There was at least one raider atop an outlying building and with her a turret that skimmed side to side for a victim. If there were any others, he couldn't see them, but his hunting rifle didn't have the range from the hill anyway. They'd have to get closer.

"Let's go." Once again he was pulled down by the back of his jacket and he threw a fist, loosing instead the binoculars partway down the hill. "The fuck are you thinking?!"

He was the leader here and he was the one who should decide what they were going to do about obstacles and enemies. Dean was along for the ride and under a verbal contract to follow his orders. If Preston said charge, then dammit they'd charge!

"They've got missiles."

"You've gotta be fuckin-"

"It's true."

"Fine, then what the fuck are we gonna do?"

"Do you trust me?" Why should he? Dean's appearance was worn out and perpetually slouched. He looked about as strong as a wet paper bag, just as smart, and just as painfully non-intimidating. But he was a raider and the only motivation Preston had ever seen was given with the promise of chems. He knew from experience that Dean was more than willing to take his knife to the tender midsection of opponents with only enough finesse as to get the job done. With his raider 'family' on the line, who was to say he wouldn't use his skills on Preston himself?

They had already spent several nights in each other's company and each one exposed to the elements and the potential for one to kill the other while they slept. Additionally, every stipulation of their agreement had been upheld on Dean's part to that moment and with no complaints. He had even been willing to go through with commands that Preston had only offered as a humiliating joke before stopping him. Any other raider would have told him off, slaughtered him, and taken all his belongings. And if he intended to betray him, why would he even be warning him about the place he called home?

"Fuck it. Alright, I trust you."

The blow came swiftly just below his rib and his breath followed immediately after. Preston doubled over with a groan as Dean caught him in his arms and laid him on the ground. Between the Sun above, the pain, and his skewed glasses, nothing wanted to stay in focus until he finally gave in and allowed his eyes to close.

\---

There was a rhythm to the steps taken, steadier as the land leveled out. It shook Preston's whole body and thrummed in his head. A stench tugged at the hairs in his nose and assaulted his sinuses to earn a gurgle of protest.

"The hell-"

"Is that you, Dean?"

"Shit, you're alive?!"

The voices faded in and out and though he could hear them, Preston couldn't register them. Only Dean's rang clear and strong through his chest.

"Yeah."

"Shit I heard you guys were all carrion for the birds!"

"Nah. Not me."

"Who the fuck is that?"

"The asshole that got all the others."

With a shluff and a thud, Preston was dropped from Dean's shoulder and into the street. It knocked a choked cough out of him and he rolled onto his side, attempting to get his hands underneath himself to sit up. As his vision caught up with his surroundings, he recognized none of the faces staring down at him. Streaky makeup, uneven haircuts, and exposed skin were popular with this crowd. So was being downright ugly. He almost managed to say such before he took a swift kick to the gut.

"Stay down, shitbag."

"I'll cut him from his dick to his throat!" Reinforcing the threat was the metallic click of a switch blade just ahead of Preston. This was it. He made a shit choice in helping Dean escape and a double shit choice in agreeing to trust him. Somewhere his mother was standing over him, disappointed and resolved to deny she ever had a son who couldn't even survive in the wasteland.

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"It's too easy. I'd have killed him, but it's too easy."

Silence as Dean squatted down and removed Preston's pipboy before rummaging through his pockets. One of the inner pockets of his jacket held a photo, the crease down the middle effectively dividing the two figures. Preston's bound hands snatched up, catching Dean's wrist as he growled, guttural and threatening before one of the raiders brought their foot down on his arm. They laughed as he winced.

"Don't worry. I'll keep her safe." The corner of Dean's mouth curled upward as he tucked the photo into his own pocket with a pat. "We'll keep him and put him to work."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Hm. You ever hear about giving a man a fish, you feed him for a day? But teach him to fish and you feed him for life. If we kill him, he learns nothing. If we spread it out..."

"Then he'll really regret it."

"Yeah."

"We can make him wish he were dead."

"Exactly."

"I still want to fucking kill him."

"Get out of here, Chloe. You two, sort his shit." Taking charge, the raider tossed Preston's sack at a couple of the others before picking up the pipboy and placing it around his own wrist.

"It's left handed... moron..." Preston managed to string words together but it only resulted in being pulled up by his hair.

"You listen to me you piece of shit: This ain't your cute little vault. Your ass is ours and I'm sure there are some who're gonna take that literally."

\---

The only blessing bestowed upon Preston was that his cell was large enough that the raiders couldn't piss on him. It didn't stop them from trying. The harassment was unending and he held little ability to let it roll off his back. He found himself often pacing the cell and rushing the bars, prompted by fighting words. If it weren't for the bright blue and yellow vault suit, his language and aggression could have convinced anyone else he was a raider as well.

Only one raider seemed less interested in verbal abuse, taunting freedom or food just beyond his reach, or throwing trash at him. Chloe spent her shift watching him as she sharpened her knife with long deliberate strokes, an upgraded choice larger than the switchblade she wielded previously. He didn't so much as give her the time of day, choosing instead to stare at the opposite wall and devise fantastical plans as to how he was going to escape and what he was going to do to each and every one of the raiders. Dean, specifically, deserved going right back to the super mutants, complete with an apple shoved in his mouth. Maybe up his ass, too. Just for good measure.

"You know, my brother was one of the ones you killed." Chloe crooned from her short stool. "I mean, I was going to do it myself. Soon enough. But he was mine!" She stamped her foot in emphasis, but Preston remained focused on the wall. He could practically feel the heat of anger radiating off of her even at that distance.

"I don't even think you did it."

His gaze shifted just enough to put her in sight.

"Yeah. A little shit like you? Grew up in a vault and came out to take fifteen raiders all by yourself?" She snorted. "Like anyone could fuckin' believe that load of crap."

"I didn't."

"So," Chloe grasped the bars of the cell, her face all but pressed between them. "What happened?"

"He's super mutant shit now." Preston reflected her sadistic grin back at her, taking particular pleasure in the mental imagery of his words.

"Ha! You're fucked up for a vaultie." Some of the others had already attempted to research the 111 on the back of his suit. No one had heard of it and if they could find the location, it could prove a treasure trove of resources and rewards. It would only be a matter of time before they found it marked on the map in his pipboy. Fucked up and well and truly fucked.

"Yeah."

A jingle of the keys was quickly followed by the large lock turning, by Preston rising to his feet and meeting face to face with Chloe, unobstructed now by the bars. She barely came up to his chin though he guessed she weighed about the same as him. Notches in her shoulder pad were probably indicative of her kill count and it was, perhaps, a collection of scalps that hung off her belt in a shaggy matted mess. Preston recognized a good hunting knife from his grandfather's efforts at teaching him camping skills that by all means had been pointless from a vault life perspective. Even if he still had his leather jacket, however, it wouldn't protect him for long from a bombardment of slashes and stabs. Neither would backing further into the corner though he couldn't help himself.

"If you didn't kill 'em, then we don't gotta keep you around." She stepped closer, the knife weighty in her hand. "You scared of a girl?"

"You're a fucking cunt is what you are." Famous last words, forever engraved on his tombstone.

She lunged and he side-stepped around her to slam her face into the wall and streak blood down it as she collapsed to the floor. He claimed the knife as a prize before turning to see Dean standing in front of the cell, clad in what had been Preston's studded leather jacket.

“Shit. I'm not ready.”

“Oh, I sure as fuck am.”

Simultaneously they bolted, the chase taking a turn up some stairs and stirring up a commotion. Dean was faster than Preston had ever realized and, as they darted through the maze of open doorways and holes in walls, they were separated by the other raiders springing up to see what was going on.

Preston had fought hard to ignore the others. It was Dean, the lying, backstabbing, cock sucking sack of shit, that he was after. But a raider three times too large for his pants seized Preston by the back of his vault suit as he turned a corner, jerking him back into an alleyway. There was barely any room to roll out of the way of the pair of fists that came down upon him and when they struck thin air, he countered with an elbow to the side of the raider's head and then a stuck the knife between his ribs where it lodged. Lucky for him, the raider had a shotgun holstered that was easy to pry off his back. It was loaded but not for long as two more raiders came charging down the alley.

“Fuck.” Preston muttered to himself, already down two weapons in moments.

“Dean!” he bellowed over the shoulder of a new opponent as he held them in a desperate choke hold. A gunshot and the raider fell, their kneecap in pieces. Dean tossed the pistol to Preston before bolting and renewing the chase.

From one half-collapsed building into another, something clattered as Preston kicked it. All around the sounds of chaos grew exponentially. Explosions, screaming, gunshots, glass shattering, and only a fraction of it from Preston's own struggles. On multiple occasions he tucked back around a corner and hid as other raiders would run past. It barely registered that anything was on fire and he only took it as a forced redirection in his hunt. He found his way to the main street through the encampment to come face to face with a few raiders who had stopped to examine a fallen comrade.

Two shots took one of them out before the others realized Preston was there. Splitting up, three charged him and two took either shelter or an alternate path to flank him. It didn't matter. The more of the raiders he killed, the better. And as he would eliminate them, Dean would have fewer and fewer to hide behind. One of the chargers came at him with a baseball bat and went down easily before they could get even halfway. The others however were also armed with guns and ducked behind rubble. Now it was a shootout.

He had less than half a clip left. No scope. Preston's groan crescendoed into a cuss from behind an upturned slab of concrete. It helped the raiders pinpoint him and they let off a handful of shots around him, causing him to flinch from a smattering of concrete flecks. A heartbeat of silence would have been his cue to return fire, but it was interrupted with a gentle thud of a grenade that rolled back toward him from its landing spot. No thinking, just action. In a single motion, he scooped it up and hurled it over the barrier and back from where it had come. It went off before it hit the ground and Preston leaped up to survey and fire until his clip was empty.

The dust began to settle, revealing the two fresh corpses covered in debris and a few choice bullet wounds. Aside from the crackling of the fires, an eerie silence came over the town. With no other opponents in sight, Preston took the opportunity to scavenge. He needed a viable weapon and- bingo. Some water, or maybe it was booze, still left in a canteen one of the raiders had had on them. The cap came off with a few quick twists and germs be damned he put it directly to his mouth, taking three large gulps. He wasn't sure if he was truly disappointed that it was water and not vodka.

When he stopped, his ears perked up at footsteps moving back and forth across the pavement. Dean was in the street, still donning Preston's leather jacket as he moved from one corpse to another. He had a pile of weapons and other goods stacking up when Preston approached.

“You.” He sneered at the raider.

“Hey-” Dean ducked aside from Preston's fist and then grinned, bringing his own up at the ready. “Cool. Let's go.”

Preston lunged again, this time aiming to tackle the other around the waist. His balance had been thrown off by exhaustion however and it didn't take much to side-step him. Feeling foolish but too angry to walk away, he turned about and charged toward Dean a second time. He swung one fist and then the other with minimal grace before he took a blow to his own face, his teeth cutting the inside of his cheek in the process.

“Do you want me to go easy or...? Because I'm going easy right now.” The way Dean grinned made it clear he considered it a gift.

“Fuck you!” Preston spat out blood as he dove for Dean's legs.

Grasped by the back of his vault suit as he went by, he was thrown to the ground and pinned, Dean straddled over with a forearm to his throat. Preston struggled to breathe not because of the pressure but simply because his body was reaching its limit. His breaths came in deep heavy gasps that made his chest rise and fall dramatically. Dean simply leaned over him, barely at a pant himself. He looked down at Preston almost blissfully and it was surprisingly difficult to look away. Finally, Dean leaned in closer, his face in Preston's, the very tips of his long blond hair falling forward to tickle his cheeks.

“I want to kiss you.” Soft and sincere, it was in such stark contrast to Preston's own feelings that it made him scream as he shoved Dean off. Once free, he rolled himself over and pushed himself back up to his feet. He swayed. Dean remained seated on the ground with that smile on his face. It should be easy to kick off, but everything in his body warned him of the likely failure.

“There's a lot of good weapons and stuff.” Dean nodded toward the collection as if allowing Preston to have first picks.

“Fuck you.” The only attack he could provide was verbal. It took a moment for it to sink in and Dean's smile faded.

“You said we needed to get through here.”

Preston felt like he had been hit with a sack of bricks. Dean had set him up. Not to be killed or enslaved but...

“By fighting all of them bare handed?!”

“You said you trusted me. But you started too early. I wasn't ready yet.”

“Ready?! What the fuck do you mean 'ready'?”

“I hadn't finished with the traps.” Preston recalled flashes of passing by broken tripwires and dude mines. Had Dean set those obstacles for the other raiders or had he disarmed the ones they had placed themselves? Had the other raiders been more focused on the traitor in their midst? “But I did make sure they didn't have the missiles.”

With a shaky sigh, Preston ran his hands back through his hair. He turned to look over the ruins of the town and back again. Dean had chosen a fucked up way of escorting him through the mess but had indeed made sure he got through it. What could he even say? He turned his attention to the goods, sifting through the weapons and chems alike.

“I thought you would want all this.”

Preston stopped, pointing a finger directly in Dean's face and growling. “Don't you ever, ever fucking assume shit about me.” He needed something to be mad about.

“Okay. Do you want any of it?” Preston couldn't tell if Dean was being a smart ass or if he simply didn't know any better.

“No shit I want it. And whatever I don't need I'll sell. Pack it up.”

Dean did as told, helping stuff as much of their rewards into two duffle bags as they could. Before he slung the bags over his shoulders, he returned Preston's jacket, complete with the photo still in the pocket. He didn't ask who the woman was and even if he had, Preston would have told him to mind his own fucking business.

“Let's get the fuck outta here.” Good riddance to a terrible memory he hoped he could forget.

“I like you, Preston.” It took him by surprise and his chest filled with an intense warmth that started focused immediately in the center before rapidly dispersing across and down both arms. Despite the internal reaction, he remained cool on the exterior, sneering once again at Dean.

“You're fucking fucked up.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah.”


End file.
